


Cobwebs

by Silvermoonphantom (Daitoshi)



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bad Jokes, Crossover, Drabble Collection, Friendship, Gen, Kissing, M/M, Norse Myths & Legends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daitoshi/pseuds/Silvermoonphantom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of story ideas and ficlets, revolving around Peter Parker and his shenanigans.<br/>You are welcome to use these as a base for a longer story - or to extend the story by a chapter or two, but I ask that you drop a note in my inbox saying you'll do so, and a link to your story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Difference in Opinion

“So, what did you think?”  
“Of the church? It was nice. Beautiful architecture. Gave it an interesting kinda mood. I’m thinking of revisiting whenever I get the chance, to take a closer look at the sculptures on the ceiling.”  
Peter glanced at the older man, noting the frown.   
He grinned   
“I promise not to leave any webbing or spidery fingerprints on the walls or windows. ”  
“I meant the sermon.”  
The lawyer continued to walk forward, noting how the other fell back a step before continuing to follow. An effort to hide facial expression? Peter’s breathing had changed, becoming soft and regulated. Heartbeat picked up. Rustling cloth. Fidgeting.  
“It was nice. I like the idea of forgiving everyone, let judgement happen after someone dies... just be happy while they’re here, y’know? Maybe some of my baddies could pick up on that, let go of some grudges.”  
The boy inhaled, opened his mouth, cut himself off and remained silent   
“You wanted to say something else.”

 

“Matt, I got my powers from a spider’s bite. I’ve been informed they originated from the Heathen totem of spiders. I’ve died, met said totem, then was reborn by crawling out of a husk of my own skin. Forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical of traditional religions.”


	2. Start of a Crossover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up in a strange place is always a bit startling. Even worse, when you don't remember how you got there.

All he could hear was the rustle of leaves in the wind.

  
It was eerie.

  
  Even without opening his eyes, Peter could tell something was quite amiss. Gone was the drone of city life. Absent was the blair of car horns and people talking to each other and the harsh grinding of construction workers tearing apart concrete and asphalt.

 

  
  His last memory involved looking out over the city, toward Stark Tower in the distance. His spidey sense had been buzzing faintly all day, a drone in the back of his head that was growing to be a frustration, rather than helpful.

  
  He remembered the tingle suddenly blaring to life with an overwhelming roar, his hindbrain taking over so quickly that he could barely recall the mad scramble for cover.  
Not that it had done him any good.

  
  Just as he was sliding into a crevice between an air conditioning unit and a chimney stack, he felt the world drop out from under him. Like jumping onto a ledge that turned out to be one of Mysterio’s illusions. A flood of light and color and pressure like he was being smashed through a sink’s pipe while staring at a rainbow version of police lights.  
And then he woke up here.

  
  He lifted one hand, the material of his suit scraping against dead leaves, tugging his mask up over his nose. Taking a deep breath, Peter let himself sift through the different smells. His sense of smell wasn’t quite as enhanced as Wolverine’s, but it was nothing to sneeze at.  
As he suspected from the lack of noise, there was also a lack of city-related smells. Just a lot of forest.

  
  He tugged the mask back into place, letting his arm fall back onto the leaf-litter. Sore didn't even begin to cover how he felt. Peter ignored the screaming of his joints with a tenacity stemming only from practice as he sat upright, curling his legs underneath and pushing into a standing position. A quick flex of his shoulders sent a fair amount of the detritus fluttering back down to the ground.  
He needed to figure out where he was. How long had he been out? Was he even in his own universe any more? He had tagged along with the Fantastic Four enough times to know that traveling to other universes wasn't really that far outside the realm of possibility.

  His fingers clung easily to tree bark, spine creaking as his legs flexed upward to grip as well. The familiar flow of wall-crawling (Tree-crawling?) let him stretch his angry muscles, the ache beginning to fade away. The amount of time it took to ascend the trees gave him a bit of confusion. In New York, a jump could send him easily into the lower boughs of most trees.

  Here, though... the lowest branches were easily higher than 12 stories. Yet it didn't have the feel of an ancient forest. Everything was still alive and flourishing, the smell of rotten wood and composted leaves oddly absent.  
  Peter finally reached the lowest branch, slinking around the bottom and crouching on top. He was hesitant to use his webbing to swing through the forest - both due to the unpredictable manner in which trees grew, and the possibility that he may encounter someone dangerous and running out of web fluid was never fun.

  
  He stood, bouncing on the balls of his feet to test the branch. His Spidey-Sense was silent.  
With a leap forward, he sent himself bounding through the treetops, further upward.  
When he could finally see the sky, Peter paused, craning his neck around.

  
  The landscape was rather awe-inspiring. Rolling hills of trees, almost as far as he could see. In the far distance, he could see what looked like mountains, more trees and... Yes! A trail of smoke reaching toward the sky.  
  Either that was an unluckily placed forest fire, or a very-happy-to-see you bit of civilization.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had started small.....

It had started small. 

A paper cup of water left out on a hot summer day, balanced on the top of a crane’s support strut. He had landed for a breather, glancing down and finding it next to him, as if summoned by the magic of a parched throat.   
Peter looked around, suspicious. His spider-sense wasn't going off at it, so it probably wasn't poisoned, but you never knew these days. His eyes tracked a bead of condensation down the side of the wax coating, and he leapt away before he was seriously tempted.   
The next day, he returned to that area, crawling deftly along the side of a nearby building to check out that crane. It was in a different position today, and the water was gone.   
His arm was already extended to fire a web away, when a gleam of color caught his eye. Taped to the side of a beam, glinting innocently in the bright sunlight, was a bag of chips.   
Next to it was a post-it note, sloppy handwriting proclaiming the snack “for spider-man”  
He stared at it for a long while, debating the wisdom of accepting food from strangers. Especially food that’s been taped to the side of heavy machinery, for him specifically.  
With a shake of his head, Peter went on with his patrol of the city, leaving the chips alone.   
Every day for the next week, he stopped by that corner, wondering who on earth was leaving stuff behind for him. Each morning, something new was taped in place or balanced on a ledge. Usually food. A juice box, sealed fruit cup. On Thursday it was a thermos, but he didn't look inside to see the contents. Friday had a bagged sandwich with a smiley face drawn on the plastic. 

Monday of the following week had him sweltering, tucked in the shade of buildings and ledges and trying to keep out of the sun. His suit was skin tight and fairly thin, but it was insulating enough to get him wishing for a convenient water-focused villain to fight. Or maybe a fire, so he could douse himself in the spray of a hydrant.   
Resolving to cut his patrol short, he swung back on his normal route. He bounced over a few rooftops, wincing as the heat cut straight through the soles of his costume, sending him skittering into the shadow of two buildings. 

He clung to the brick wall, pressing his forehead against the cool stone.   
Oh. Back at the place with oddly placed food items.   
Sure enough, there was a sports drink sitting on the top of some scaffolding, bright purple and covered in condensation.   
Peter swallowed, feeling his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, the idea of liquids absolutely fantastic. He let himself rest against the wall for a moment longer before lunging across the alleyway, landing on the wall and looking around warily. There was a window across the street with their shutters closed, glass shining uncomfortably bright in the summer sunlight.   
His spider-sense was still quiet. 

Peter reached forward, taking the orange cap between three fingers and lifting the bottle delicately off its perch. There was a ring of water left behind, a few more drops disturbed and falling from the plastic. He wrapped his fingers around the bottle, the chill of it feeling wonderful against his palm. Water was soaking through his glove.   
With a quick twist, he felt the plastic seal crack open, a faint assurance that the liquid inside was probably safe.   
Probably.   
Maybe.   
At this point, he could hardly care. His throat was parched, and the sports drink smelled sweet and it was probably cool and he only hesitated for a moment before rolling his mask up over his nose. Lips pressed against the plastic, and something like bliss followed.   
It was still cold, sweet and grape flavored and absolutely perfect.   
He sucked down half the bottle before remembering that he was supposed to be wary of it. Peter held it away from him, staring at it accusingly for a moment before giving up and downing the rest of the bottle, feeling the chill settle in his gut. 

With a happy sigh, he screwed the lid on, placing the bottle back onto the scaffolding. 

 

The next day, there was a clear water bottle with a chunk of ice floating inside.


	4. Sense of Self

Spiderman pulled his mask up, happily accepting the offered breakfast treat. He smothered a giggle, the idea that a God would like poptarts so much. 

It had been a long week, filled with snarks, laughs and a fair bit of Fury-baiting. They finally got the Doom-Bots under control, shoving the man back into the Vault. 

The team had retired to the Avengers Tower, Spider-man hovering outside in preparation to swing back home. Likewise, the God of Thunder also lingered, casting his gaze to the sky. 

Peter had always admired the man, and was surprised when the blonde approached him so suddenly. Especially with an offer of breakfast foods. 

He took a bite, looking back over the city. It was always beautiful. Even when rifts into another dimension let eyeball-frog-slug-monsters creeping around to slime up everything, he always admired his home. That was an odd metaphor, but he didn’t doubt it could happen. 

Peter finished his bite, turning toward the other man, only to jerk back in surprise when he found a curious face right in front of his own. 

He definitely did not squeak. 

And he definitely did not flail his arms when the Thunderer grasped his shoulder, pulling him down into a very unexpected kiss. 

The god tastes like cheap raspberry filling, and smells like rain and metal. His brain short-circuited. Peter felt a spark of electricity jump between their mouths as he pulled away, the sharp jolt fading into a buzz of energy when the blonde pushed forward to connect them again. He made a soft sound, a mixture of confusion and pleasure and frustration. 

Thor slid one hand down to his lower back, tanned skin catching on the webbing texture of his suit. 

A part of Peter said that he should push away now, but the rest of him wasn’t listening, long fingers splayed on the metal chest plate pressing down on him. It felt like liquid fire was flowing through his nerves, entering through his mouth and swooping down his spine. 

Vaguely, he remembered something about the flow of electricity, grounding, currents, voltage. Thor’s other hand raised up to brush his thumb along the young man’s exposed jaw, broad palm resting along his neck. 

Peter pulled away to breathe, swallowing to try getting used to the sharp jolt that accompanied breaking their connection. He glanced up, meeting the god’s blue eyes through his mask. 

Only to gasp under the onslaught of mental images. 

Like a blast of water soaking him to the bone, images and clips of places around the world battered at his awareness. Like daydreaming, only a dozen times more complicated and confusing. He recognized a desert, thick jungles, street corners, dark cracks and sunny branches. 

A flash of bright yellow, black eyes peering out of the shadows, a furry body curling up against the cold.

A spider, pale and translucent, newly hatched. Thick-bodied tarantula, lunging after warm-blooded prey.

Delicate legs perched in gossamer strands of web, waiting, venom tasting sweet and deadly. Black eyes, eight, ten, four. Staring at him, merging together. 

The onslaught of images seemed to be intensifying, overlapping and creating a single body. 

He felt exposed, standing helpless in front of the figure of a giant spider, legs reaching far beyond him, around him. The eyes drew forward and he could see his reflection in him, brown-haired and fair-skinned against endless black. 

He lifted a hand, feeling sharp spines and fine hairs and the crackling exoskeleton of an arachnid under his palm. His fingers splayed across its forehead, the pincers rasping against each other. 

Peter recognized it, finally. The Spider. The conglomeration of every type, a representation of his powers. The origin of them. The totem. His totem. 

He blinked. 

His surroundings swam back into focus, those clear blue eyes looking past his masks's reflective lenses. The god’s face was set in a gentle sort of understanding. As Peter felt himself settle back into his body, he became aware that he was being supported by the larger man’s arms, his own hands barely sticking to hold himself upright. 

“My apologies, Man-of-Spiders. I had desired to seek out your connection to the earth. It was no intention of mine to cause you pain.”

Peter stood on wobbly legs, swallowing past his dry mouth. It still tasted like poptarts. 

“My.. uh... connection?”

His brain felt mushy.

“My grandmother is a goddess of the earth. I sensed a bit of her power in you, and sought it out.”

Peter swallowed again, reaching up to tug his mask back into place. 

 

“So all that -” He waved his hand, trying to gesture to the electric kiss that had occurred. 

“That was just a way to... get in connection with my....earthy bits?”


	5. Always a joker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why is it always Thursdays?

Of COURSE there was a mass criminal breakout last month. They really should keep this on a timer. October is full of Halloween and criminal escapees. November was thanksgiving, and you had a week to relax with petty crimes. After that, you better bundle up, because the gates of Hell were opening, and Ghost Rider wasn't the only one cruising those roads. 

This week? Spaghetti Monsters. 

No, really. Spaghetti Monsters. All tentacles and red goo and bits of brown pulsing organs that he suppose could pass as the mystery meat at his old high school. Really, there was two of those. They kinda flopped out of the portal and zoomed along the street for a while before getting mowed over by a taxi driver. Said taxi driver was not pleased. 

The real baddies were some sort of humanoid lizard guys. He’d make references to Doc Connors, but that was a whole different kettle of fish.... aquarium of lizards? He needed to work with that one. 

Anyway, they were all tribal and decked out with paint and spoke a different language that still managed to sound suitably pissy when their tails were stepped on. 

Not...that he knew what would happen in that instance... 

Okay, so he may have landed on a tail, expecting them to be a bit more stable. 

He certainly did not think it’d just fall off! 

And then he got stabbed for his trouble, kicked off the top of a building and currently in free-fall. 

Thursdays. 

Always Thursdays. 

His attempt to cling to the wall ends up wrenching his arm (and his injured stomach, which is NOT happy, and hasn't stopped reminding him) and sending him into a twisting path downward. His spider-sense is a bit confused, blaring both at his injury (which is now burning) and his environment. (which is still spinning)

The world fades to black, a moment of peace enveloping him. 

And then he’s jerked sideways, back into awareness by a rather large, green creature. 

At first, Peter mistakes it for a lizard, but the skin is far too smooth, and a much deeper green. 

He’s tucked against the Hulk, one thick arm cradling him gently. One swing of the free hand decimates a few of the lizards, a back-swing sending a car flying into a group of them. 

They hiss and throw spears, wood and metal shafts doing basically nothing to the thick green hide of the Gamma-enhanced man.

The ugly red portal swirling above the street suddenly winks out of existence, the Lizards stopping their actions with a gurgle of confusion. Apparently the Fantastic Four had the situation under control. The lizards begin to wink out, popping back to their proper dimension. 

Peter yawned, late nights swinging and an interrupted breakfast leaving him feeling exhausted. His eyes followed Iron Man sweeping through the sky, pulling in close to land. He heard the metallic voice call out to Bruce, the man inside the beast. Tony called for Banner, talking about being buds and trying science together when they got back to the tower. 

No fair. They never invited HIM to the tower. 

Finally the Hulk starts getting fed up with being addressed as Bruce. One broad hand swings at the armored man, growls reverberating down the green chest. 

Ugh. He didn’t feel like being treated like a rag-doll right now. The wound on his abdomen felt horrid. 

“Hey tall green and handsome, you like knock-knock jokes, right?”

The giant growled, aiming another swat at the metal man. 

“Well, why did Jenny fall off the swing?”

Hulk tightened his grip on the smaller man, pulling a wince out, beneath the mask. 

“She had no arms. Knock knock”

Hulk stilled, frowning at him. Tony landed again, repulsors kicking up dust. 

“Who?”

The rumbling voice vibrated down through that broad chest, feeling like a cat’s purr growling against the spots that touched Peter. 

“Not Jenny.”

All of the sudden, the Hulk was shrinking, his face screwed up in a mixture of outrage and half-heartedly suppressed amusement. Spider-man let out a weak chuckle as the other man slimmed down, setting him on the ground and cuffing him on the shoulder. 

“That’s terrible! Why would you say that!”

Bruce bit his lip, trying to hold back a creeping grin. 

“Honestly, that’s horrible. I’m a horrible person for laughing at that.”

Peter’s snickers grew in strength before cutting off into a hiss, his abdomen shooting pain. 

“God, we’re terrible people.”

Peter looked up, those oddly expressive lenses displaying the grin hidden under his mask. 

Bruce looked down at him, heaving a sigh and swatting his head again. 

Tony stepped forward, letting JARVIS do his thing, information from an improv bio-scan flittering around on the inside of his helmet. 

“We ought to get you back to base. Those spears didn’t seem poisoned, but you never know what extra-dimensional infections can get all up in your business.”

Peter sighed in annoyance. The SHIELD doctors always wanted him to take his mask off. He much preferred the one downtown. She let him keep his mask, his secrets, and didn’t ask intrusive questions. Then again, the one downtown probably didn’t have Reed’s ridiculous arsenal of extra-dimensional medicines and machinery, either.


	6. Honey, Love, Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stony gets a cup of tea

The look on Tony’s face was nothing short of comical. A mixture of surprise and bewildered outrage. He twisted in his seat, arm lifting just in time to avoid spilling his coffee. The rubber ball bounced away, into the arms of a young girl.

 

He and Steve had gone out for coffee, the super soldier citing the lack of his own human interaction beyond SHIELD and the people in Avengers tower. He wanted fresh air, themurmur of people going about normal, everyday things. The billionaire finally relented, driving them to the middle of New York in search of a decent cafe.

He nitpicked over various places, stopping here or there, some buildings familiar to the blonde, others futuristic and looking out of place against the brick buildings around it. They ended up at a little joint on the corner of two small roads, what looked like a daycare on the other side of the fenced off patio.

They had taken their places at a four-seat table, Tony grumbling about how he could just buy the place and have them install better quality seating. His suit would be creased horribly by the steel mesh, who knew how many pigeons had crapped on them. Steve pointed out that, if he were to buy all the cafes in New York, he’d have no-where new to visit. The other man retorted with a list of countries and cities that Steve only caught half of, but he got the idea.

He ignored the end of the list, when his friend dug out a slim device, tapping away at it and reading off more countries. Apparently everywhere the man hadn’t visited. Yet. Their waitress finally arrived, a long-haired brunette with dimples when she smiled, and a number of ear piercings that threw him off for a moment. One of them stood out from the rest, a yellow bear in a brown shirt, clutching a pot.

Tony requested in a way that seemed more like a demand, for coffee with all the trappings to the side. The young woman nodded, turning to Steve. He requested tea and a delicious-sounding grinder, the list of ingredients making him even more hungry.   
He heart a happy-sounding shriek from the yard to their right, his eyes catching a flash of movement. He jerked to intercept, but stopped himself once he realized what the projectile actually was.   
The rubber ball bounced off the back of Tony’s head, flying back into the daycare. His hair had been flipped up, spiked in the back from impact. He looked back at Steve with clear betrayal.

The girl seemed to recognize them and waved wildly. Tony’s mouth pressed in a line, obviously trying to decide whether to return the adoration a fan was sending him or try to get the girl in trouble for smacking him in the head.

Steve grinned sunnily at her, sending the girl running back into the house, cheeks alight with a blush.   
Tony immediately started ribbing him, alternating between accusing him of being a lady-killer, taking after himself or being a pedo-bear…. whatever that was.


	7. Chapter 7

White light lit up in front of him, concussive force slamming him backward into a brick wall. He felt his head snap back, cracking against it. A high-pitched whine grew in his ears.   
He sagged forward, rubble bouncing off his shoulders and back. Peter gasped, a short inhale of pain when a piece of it struck him on the head.   
He could hear yelling, felt himself jostled. He was too dazed to coordinate his movements, one hand reaching up, only to find himself leaning sideways. An arm caught him, a bit sharp in spots and unyielding. Another wash of heat sunk through his costume, the sound crashing through his ears.   
Shortly afterward, The familiar feeling of wind urged him to cling to the person who carried him. He pawed at his mask, yanking it up over his nose to take a deep breath. Someone’s voice was saying his name.   
“-ter Peter! You alive? Say something. Jarvis, run a scan.”  
He grimaced, waving his hand in the direction of the voice. The ringing was finally starting to fade. “I can’t…” Peter coughed, blinking furiously.   
“Quiet Spidey, We’re scanning you.”  
 _~He has a concussion, centered around his occipital lobe. I recommend medical care immediately._  
 **“I can’t see”**


	8. Where our Strings crossed - teaser

There was a moment of falling, the sensation of something wispy and barely present clinging to his skin. It was peaceful, if a bit disconcerting. The feeling of oddity slunk down his spine, curling in his gut like an impatient snake. Waiting. 

He felt the world drop out from under him, like that startling edge of balance when he was tipping, just so slightly off the edge. Too late to turn back. 

Peter jerked awake. 

 

His breaths came in ragged gasps, eyes flying open. He clutched at the blankets below him, sucking in a deep lungful and holding it. He exhaled in a gust. He rolled over, grabbing an armful of coverlet and curling around it, burying his face in the green fabric. 

Green?

Peter froze, pulling his head back slowly. 

The blankets on his bed were definitely a dark red. Easier to hide blood stains when he swung home and was too tired to clean up. He lifted his head from the comfortable pillow, eyeing the misplaced color, trying to remember where they came from. 

Oh shit, was he even in his own room?

He sat upright, feeling weak. The layout of the room was familiar, but everything was green, from the curtains to the ceiling. Light shining through the small window flashed across a small picture hanging next to the door. One of those generic landscape paintings found in every garage sale on the planet. 

His memory of the events leading to this location was shoddy at best. He remembered fighting some low-grade criminals, teasing one of them who had attempted firing at him while the gun’s safety was still engaged. 

He remembered swinging across the city, making a game out of how far he could get without letting his feet touch anything. It had been an easy night. Between getting bored enough to land on a flagpole and waking up, he had no recollection. Not even a shiver of spider-sense. 

Peter rolled sideways, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

It was only through the sudden buzz of danger in the back of his head and a quick twist that he didn’t land on his face. The heck? 

He looked down at himself, wondering what was going on with his body. Drugged? That would explain the faded memory. 

Disbelief arched through him like a gunshot. 

Peter lifted one soft hand, flexing his fingers. An over sized sleeve fell away, revealing a limb that was half the size it should have been, lined with either displaced swelling or baby fat. His grey sweatshirt, once fitting slightly tight around his shoulders now fell in swathes of cloth. He dropped his hands to his sides, watching with wide eyes as the sleeves covered his fingertips. Tangled around his legs was a pair of huge jeans, the rips and one memorable stain identifying them as his own. 

He was…..

He was tiny. 

Somehow this alarmed him a bit less than waking up in a strange room did. He’d been through freaky stuff before. Finding out he could climb walls was odd, being sent to another universe with the Fantastic Four was also ‘up there’ on his weirdness scale. He’d been possessed by an Alien slime, hunted like an animal, grown an extra pair of arms and switched bodies with a mutant who called himself Wolverine. Yeah, finding himself as a child wasn’t much of a stretch. 

Peter took another deep breath, kicking the jeans away and made a crack about Fate wearing the pants in their relationship. His own voice had even changed, sounding high-pitched in his ear. A bit nasally  He needed to find someone to fix this, and fast. He didn’t know if there was a time limit to whatever had been done to him. A curse, some sort of genetic regression, no idea. Better sooner than later, anyway. A quick check of his pants pockets found them bereft of anything useful. A crumpled grocery list and some lint not exactly a great help.

He looked around for clues to the mysterious apartment. Again, he noticed the similar layout to his own room. The slightly off-center door frame, a deep scratch on the edge of the windowsill. Something niggled at his brain, but he pushed it away, not quite ready to accept something like that. 

Peter snapped open the window locks, hoisting it up. His sweater hung down, past mid-thigh when he stood upright. His boxers were baggy, but clung enough that he could pretend they were shorts. The smell of New York City sliced through the humid room, bringing with it a chill that spoke of approaching winter months. He bit down a shiver, moving the screen and swinging around, closing the window behind him. 

His wrists were bare, but Peter still had to check himself awkwardly when he made an automatic move to start swinging. A bit glad no one had seen the awkward flail. 

Webshooters gone, child body, woke up in a strange apartment and… what?

He stopped, half-crouched on the side of the building. Everything was… weirdly familiar. He turned back, counting floors. The window he had jumped out of… It was his own. 

How did? What?

He blinked. 

How did someone move into his place so quickly? They even fixed the hole in the wall, and the water stains in the left corner. That scratch hadn’t been similar, it was the same. Even the mattress was the same, a creaky  old thing that had come with the place. 

Had he been asleep for ages? What was the date? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick teaser to a fanfic I'm writing.   
> What are your thoughts?


End file.
